Page 69 of Taunting Tarran
He smiles, tilting his head as if considering my words. ‘Addiction to charm, maybe? Well, admitting it is the first step to recovery, right?’
‘What can I do for you today?’ I ask, settling comfortably into my chair.
‘Well,’ he starts, a grin curling at the edges of his mouth as he practically salivates, ‘I’ve been speaking to this woman online. I think I’m in love.’
Oh for fuck’s sake.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
THE PUNISHER
Three months later.
The ashes of The Lickerish Lounge fuelled a frenzy sending patrons flooding into my other club like a moth to a flame. There’s something deliciously intoxicating seeing The Velvet Vice reborn from a ruin. The Lickerish Lounge may have crumbled, but in its downfall, it sparked a wildfire that sent people scrambling to The Velvet Vice. I’d dismissed it as a failing venture, but with the Vice now pulsing with life, I question whether the downfall of The Lickerish Lounge was truly a tragedy, or was it always meant to be a sacrifice for something greater?
Like a purge of the past – swift, absolute and necessary, I fired everyone, and with them, every tie that bound The Velvet Vice to its former failures, and lingering allegiances. The slate wasn’t just wiped clean; it was shattered and replaced with the intention to thrive in a way its predecessor never could.
Sal stands in front of me, his face painted in grim satisfaction that tells me he’s found something –or someone. It’s been months of tracking leads and hitting dead ends, the days blending into weeks that now, chaos is just routine as we hold up our end of the bargain – find Emma, no matter the cost. No matter the wreckage left in our wake.
‘She’s with one of Maribel’s mercenaries,’ he says, ‘cosy too, by the looks of it.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘How did you find her?’
Sal smiles faintly, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘An old contact of mine.’
I cock a brow, and pour us both a whiskey. I don’t push, nor pry – just enough to remind him that silence is rarely without consequence. ‘An old flame by any chance?’
He shrugs as he takes the glass, his smile lingering. ‘You could say that.’
Cosy.
The very word crawling under my skin like a parasite. Emma huddled up with the filth that brought Tarran into my kingdom of power and peril makes my stomach churn. I turn away, rubbing my jaw, and let the silence stretch.
Sal pushes the folder across the table. He doesn’t askquestions, doesn’t offer advice, because we both know how this is going to end. He leans back against the table as the club’s sound system vibrates through the walls, the pounding rhythm pulsing in time with the flickering neon lights.
‘So, Emma’s a traitor,’ I breathe.
‘Are you going to tell Tarran?’ Sal asks, glancing up at me.
‘No!’ I reply, turning to seat myself at my desk. I lean back in the chair, exhaling slowly as I continue. ‘She’s better off missing the truth than knowing she could never trust a friend ever again.’
Sal’s expression tightens, but he nods, just once, as if he understands, even if he doesn’t entirely agree. ‘I almost feel sorry for them, boss.’
‘Why is that?’
Sal leans in slightly. ‘Because if I were in their shoes knowing you were coming for me, I’d spend the time praying for mercy.’ He lets the pause stretch, just for effect, before adding, ‘Not that it would make any difference.’ There’s no bravado in his tone, no dramatics – just certainty.
‘I want you to bring them in,’ I order.
‘Alive?’
‘Alive. And I want them back at the coto. That’s non-negotiable.’
He exhales slowly, nodding. ‘You think they’ll talk?’
‘I don’t need them to talk. I just need them to run.’
Without another word, Sal makes a call - the voice on the other end of the call answering after three rings.
